


Too Blind To See

by pretty0dd_semisweet



Category: Blink-182
Genre: Angst, M/M, References to Suicide, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretty0dd_semisweet/pseuds/pretty0dd_semisweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can’t really remember the day he died.<br/>The doctors say it was too devasting for me, they said I couldn’t really comprehend and understand what was going on. Well, actually the doctors say a lot.<br/>They say he is dead.<br/>But he isn’t.<br/>They just can’t see him. I’m the only one who can see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Blind To See

I can’t really remember the day he died.

The doctors say it was too devasting for me, they said I couldn’t really comprehend and understand what was going on. Well, actually the doctors say a lot.

They say he is dead.

But he isn’t.

They just can’t see him. I’m the only one who can see him.

The doctors say he’s made up by my mind, just an imagination. They say he’s not really here, not anymore.

Well, that’s funny because he’s talking to me. And I can see him. So, he’s not dead.

They think I’m insane, they think I went crazy after _it_ happened. But I’m not crazy, they are just blind.

They say he fell down the stairs and broke his neck.

It happened when I was 8 and he was 11, almost 12. We had spent our whole childhood together, playing around outside all the time, going to the beach with our families together, we were like brothers.

And then everybody stopped seeing him. Except me. It was like he had never been away at all, one day he just came back, about 1 week after the accident. I had been alone in my room when he had appeared, I had been crying because I had missed him so bad, but then he was back.

When I ran down the stairs that day, tears still streaming down my face, this time they were tears of happiness though, I almost fell down the stairs myself, like my parents said he had. But, I mean, if he had I would know it, right? I mean they said I was walking behind him when it happened. Their explanation for it was that I forgot it because it was too hard to bear for me. I was just a 8 year old boy after all.

That day, when I entered that room, the day of his return, everything changed for me. Because when I told my parents he was back, when I pointed at him and told him to say something, they just stared at me with a look of blankness and wondering what I was talking about, but when I insisted that he was right there, in our living room, they understood that I was being serious about it.

They told me he wasn’t real. Everybody told me he wasn’t real.

Well, after that day things became blurry. Mostly I remember going to different kinds of therapies and talking to psychologists, making tests and things like that. Soon after the day of his return they noticed that I was actually really believing that he was back. I guess they really don’t see him, because at the beginning they just put it off like I was being silly, like lots of kids had an imaginative friend, right?

Well, the thing is, Mark wasn’t my imagination. Mark was real, as real as he had been before the accident. That’s why I kept talking to him, kept interacting with him, even when we were in public. This gained me some weird looks but I didn’t care. They were just blind. They were too blind to see him.

And that’s basically how I ended up in a mental hospital.

Now I’m 17. And I’m still there. Because he is still here too.

At first it annoyed me. I didn’t belong there, I was clearly not insane. They were the ones who were wrong. They were the ones who could not see him. It was like they didn’t even want to try, like they didn’t _believe_ me. But why should I be lying? Why should I put myself through that?

The doctors say it’s because otherwise I couldn’t deal with it, even after all this time. They say he’ll disappear some day, when I don’t need him anymore. Well, they think that. They hope it.

The thing is, I need him more now than before. I need him more than when we were younger. I need him more because he’s the only one who believes me. Obviously.

He talks to me a lot. He tells me not to listen to them. He tells me not to listen to all the words they say, because they are just lies, just lies they tell because they can’t explain it.

Throughout the years he has helped me through all kind of things. He helped me to endure the tests, the long talks with doctors, the weird looks of the people.

He is smart, you know. He knows a lot of things. Sometimes when I feel like it, I’m talking to some of the doctors about him. About how he talks, how he walks, how he comforts me. They always listen really close at those times, trying to catch something that might help them to understand me and my mental illness, as they call it. But I’m not ill. They are.

They said I am schizophrenic. I don’t know why they say that. It’s not like I’m crazy. I would know that, right?

At some point they even made me go to see his grave. Do you understand that? They made me fucking _go and see his grave_! They didn’t care about breaking me anymore, I guess. They had given me up. How sick was that? They were sick, not me. That’s how things were.

Obviously I didn’t believe them the whole grave thing. How could I, if Mark was standing right next to me? He was talking to me, just then, at the cemetery, all those graves surrounding us just like the dead people that belonged to them underneath the ground.

When he tells me not to listen to them, I don’t listen to them. Not just because he tells me, but because I don’t want to. I only believe him. He’s the only person I can truly believe and trust.

Although, sometimes I don’t listen to him. After that I wished I had, though. Because then he disappears. And he doesn’t come back for some time, it depends on how bad I misbehaved in his opinion.

When he’s away, I feel alone. I go searching for him, although I know I won’t find him. I’m getting desperate, I even start to scream and cry sometimes. The nurses already know this behavior. I don’t care about it, though. Nothing matters anymore. All I care about is him.

At those times it makes me angry that I had disappointed him.

But sometimes it’s just so scary. The things he says, I mean. They are so fucking scary.

Like that one time, when I was still a child, 10 years old maybe and my mom had taken me away from the mental hospital for some time, he said something really scary.

Mom and I were walking down that street when mom asked me to hold her hand, because she wanted to cross the street and there weren’t any traffic lights near.

So when we were like on the middle of the street, he said something.

Do you want to know what he told me? Are you sure?

Well, he told me to stop walking. He told me to stay on the street, that I should let go of my mothers hand, that I should just stand there, even if there was this car, coming near pretty fast.

And I actually stopped walking. He kept saying that I was doing fine, he kept saying that I should stay there, because if I did, we could play together again, like we used to.

If my mother hadn’t pulled me away from that street, if she would have let go of my hand that day, I would be dead.

When she asked what I had been thinking, I told her the truth. I told her that Mark had told me to do it. Since then, they barely let me outside anymore. They watched me from the distance, saying I was suicidal.

I was a goddamn ten-year-old, what were they thinking?

So, I think that was the first time he disappeared. Because I had disobeyed. Because I hadn’t let myself get hit by that car, even if it wasn’t actually my fault.

That wasn’t the last time, though. He kept telling me that I could join him, that we could be together again. And I can tell you, it was such a temptation.

It was an temptation then, and it still was.

Because throughout the years I had developed something that was more than friendship, I had started feeling something different about him, I think you could say it was love. It was that feeling when you wanted to hold that person close, that feeling when you thought about that person all the time, that feeling when you wanted to _spend time together with that person_.

Do you see why it was getting harder to resist him? Do you see why it was getting harder not to give in?

Not just that I could be together with him again, but that if I didn’t listen, he would go away again.

There were so many situations when he had told me how to do it, that the time for me had come, that we were meant to be together. But I hadn’t succeeded.

Even though I wanted it, oh yes, I wanted it so bad, it still was scary.

He said I was scared because I was still here, because I was still human. He said that if I did it, if I joined him, I wouldn’t be scared anymore.

I don’t want to be scared anymore.

But does being scared and being alive mean the same? I’m not sure. He doesn’t have an answer for that. I’ve asked him so many times already, and every time he keeps quiet.

I’m not sure if it’s scarier if he keeps quiet or if he tells me to join him.

To do the final step.

To die.

 

Right now he’s asking me again. He says I could just take that sharp fragment, that broke out of that flower pot some day. I could just take it and slit open my wrists.

And you know what? Maybe I’ll do it.

Because there’s more there where he is what I want than there is here. There is more that I desire that he has, than what I could ever get on this earth.

And maybe, I’ll be together with him again today, maybe he is right after all. Maybe everyone is right after all. And even if I won’t join him, it doesn’t matter, because I wouldn’t notice, right? So in the end there’s only one thing, that I’m really sure about.

I’m better off dead.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I got the schizophrenia right, and i hope it is authentic.


End file.
